Where Diane and Portland Meet

I remember visiting relatives in Texas as a child. We’d be down there for only a few days and I was already sleeping on “pillers” and referring to “you” as “ya’ll.” Well, it’s been a similar assimilation process in Portland. I don’t know if it’s because I’m impressionable or if I just adapt well. I’m going to go with the latter. Either way, I’ve learned that even while doing things the Portlandian way, it’s still Diane doing it.

Here are some shockers for you: I recycle. I ride a bike as transportation. I gave up Miller Lite for PBR. Now, before you get your panties in a bunch, let me explain…

I recycle. Portlandians LOVE to recycle. I never much got into recycling in Kansas City. You had to pay extra for it, and I remember hearing the rumor that Defenbaugh just threw it with the rest of the garbage anyway. That was excuse enough for me to not participate! What’s the point?! I said.

But people are serious about their recycling here. I watched a bartender, probably 3 or 4 times throughout the night, take an empty cigarette pack off the bar, slide the plastic off (non-recyclable), tear out the foil stuff (non-recyclable), and fold up the cardboard box to put in recycling. And he was fast at it! If it were my bar, it’d be going in the trash.

In Portland, they make recycling so easy, I’d feel bad if I didn’t. There’s a giant recycling can, big and green, just sitting right outside our house. What sort of people would we look like if that wasn’t dragged to the curb every Tuesday night? Definitely not Portlandians!

But keep in mind, I’m recycling in lazy Diane fashion. I’ll throw soda cans in a separate trash bag and paper in a box. That’s fine and easy. But if it’s something that requires being washed out, like a can of spaghetti o’s, sorry Portland, it’s going in the trash. I’m proud I’m doing as much as I am.

I ride a bike. And not just any bike. A bike named Nancy. Nancy is badass (as is obvious in the picture below). And yes, there was a Sid. I told Jeremy, who was with me when I bought Nancy, that he should buy Sid. He thought that would be silly being he already had a bike. Whatever. So, I bought Nancy, and broke up the bike couple. I told Jeremy that this was actually perfect, that I would find my lost Sid riding down the street some day, and we’d be instant soul mates and fall madly in love. Aaahh…

Jeremy broke my daydream with, “It’ll probably be a lesbian who buys Sid.” What? No. He continued, “Or no one buys Sid, so they send it back to the factory and melt it down to make another Nancy.” I’ve totally cursed Sid – and my love life – by buying one-half of a bike pair. Dang it.

But I did buy the most Diane-friendly bike I could find, even if it does prevent my happily-ever-after. It’s an automatic. That means, I don’t have to figure out shifting. I’m just riding along, and Nancy senses I’m struggling, so she just kicks it into an easier gear, and *wa la* pedaling is fun again. Also, I have small hands so therefore used to hate braking. Well, Nancy has petal brakes. Problem solved. Though, I must admit, on my first bike ride, I fell twice looking for the brakes on my handles. I panicked and the next thing I knew I was on the ground. It was awesome.





I drink PBR. A lot of it. I’ve tried some of the local beers – even drank a beer named “Nebraska” – but Pabst is just easy here. First of all, practically every bar either has it on tap or as tall boys. Secondly, it’s cheap. And when I say cheap, I mean cheap. So yes, while I’m drinking not the best beer, I’m being frugal Diane.

The most I have paid for TWO, not one, PBRs here is $5.80. And I was appalled at that price. “What? I bought two last night for $3.00! That’s a $1.50 a piece! And you expect me to pay $2.90 for one? That’s ridiculous.” No, what’s ridiculous is that I’m already absolutely spoiled by this.

But Portlandians like to drink, and so there’s a massive effort to make it accessible for all. Like last night, we went to this neighborhood bar for the first time. We walked up to the bar where someone politely pointed to the cups and free keg. Sweet. Not only is Portland the city of roses, it’s also the city of alcofrolics – everyone just drinking and having a good time.

I can adjust to all of this. And still be me. Home sweet home.